Reykjavik Nights

42

The thief ran smack into him, realised his mistake, spun round, fled into Skólavördustígur, across the road and vanished down Smidjustígur. Reacting a split second too late, Erlendur charged after him and kept running even when his white police cap flew off into the road. The man sprinted straight down to Laugavegur with Erlendur hot on his heels. But the man was so fast Erlendur didn’t think he’d be able to catch him.

It was after five in the morning when a passer-by had noticed suspicious movements in a jeweller’s shop on Skólavördustígur. Since he was nearly home, the witness had run the last stretch to his house and phoned the police. There were two patrol cars in the area, one of which contained Erlendur, Gardar and Marteinn, and they were first on the scene. The thief had broken in through a window at the rear of the shop and was carrying a black sports bag over his shoulder. He didn’t seem to be in any particular hurry, no doubt assuming he had plenty of time, and certainly hadn’t thought the police would arrive that quickly. He escaped from the shop by the same route, only to find himself trapped in a courtyard. He took cover as Marteinn and Gardar came round the back and entered the shop by the broken window; then he darted out of his hiding place and into the street. He hadn’t been expecting Erlendur to block his path, then chase him down to Laugavegur and down the hill to Hverfisgata.

The man suddenly swerved to the east, heading into Skuggahverfi with Erlendur close on his tail. He was still clutching the holdall, refusing to let go even if it slowed him down. He had planned the break-in carefully, as his black trousers, black jacket, black woollen hat and light plimsolls revealed, and had managed to disconnect the primitive burglar alarm, but he had not bargained for inquisitive passers-by that early in the morning.

Marteinn and Gardar were nowhere to be seen. They had missed their quarry in the shop and hadn’t noticed Erlendur running after him. They stood outside the building, scanning the horizon. Marteinn called his name but there was no answer. Then they noticed the police cap lying in the road nearby and picked it up.

‘Where the hell has he got to?’ asked Gardar, as a second patrol car drew up noiselessly beside them.

The burglar showed no signs of flagging as he pounded rhythmically along Lindargata. Erlendur, beginning to fall behind, was afraid of losing sight of him. In spite of his aching legs and shortness of breath, he refused to give up and kept pushing himself on. His heavy boots might have been fine for forming a guard of honour but they were clearly not designed for marathons.

His heart skipped a beat when he saw the thief skid on a pile of sand and fall headlong into the road. Erlendur managed to cut down the man’s lead before he leapt to his feet again and fled, limping slightly, in the direction of the abattoir buildings. By now Erlendur could hear his gasping breaths and the rattling of the jewellery in his holdall. It looked as if he was planning to jettison the bag after all. As the man glanced from side to side, Erlendur managed to tackle him in front of the abattoir gates.

They rolled over and over in the street until Erlendur got the upper hand. Straddling the thief’s back, he pushed the man’s face down on the paving stones while he tried to catch his breath. Then, with something of a struggle, he handcuffed the thief, dragged him to his feet and shoved him against a wall. An appetising aroma of dung-smoked meat wafted from the smoking ovens of the abattoir, reminding Erlendur how hungry he was. The night shift had been so busy he hadn’t eaten a thing since coming on duty.

Erlendur had begun to hustle his prisoner back up the hill towards Skólavördustígur when it dawned on him that it would be quicker to take him straight down to the station on Hverfisgata and throw him in a cell. As he didn’t have a walkie-talkie on him he couldn’t pass on a message to Gardar and Marteinn but he didn’t think it really mattered. He’d caught the culprit: their work was done.

He pushed the man ahead of him along Hverfisgata, the burglar objecting all the way, refusing to be hurried and complaining that this treatment was unreasonable since he was cooperating. Erlendur told him to shut up. He had never seen the man before. He was around twenty, slim, with long legs, built for running; his hands and face were covered in grazes from the fall. His hat had come off, revealing a thick mop of hair.

The sports bag, which Erlendur had slung over his own shoulder, clinked at every step with watches and jewellery.

‘How did you lot know I was doing the shop?’ asked the burglar.

‘Keep walking,’ snapped Erlendur.

‘Did someone see me?’

Erlendur didn’t answer.

‘I nearly got away,’ remarked the thief.

‘If only you hadn’t fallen flat on your face,’ said Erlendur.

‘I didn’t think you’d chase me that far. Thought you’d give up. I’ve never run that fast in my life.’

Erlendur gave him a shove.

‘Do you train?’ asked the prisoner.

‘Why don’t you just shut up?’ Erlendur pushed him on.

‘Been a cop long?’ continued the thief after a brief pause.

Again Erlendur ignored him.

‘Or are you a summer temp?’

‘Look, will you just shut it?’ said Erlendur. ‘I have no desire to talk to you. Why did you break into that shop, anyway? Can’t you be bothered to work for a living? Think you’re too good for that? Stop asking questions and get a move on.’

The thief took a few more steps, then baulked again.

‘I need the money.’

‘Who doesn’t? Try working for it.’

‘No, I need it right away. Lots of it. In a hurry. I can’t go to prison.’

‘Then you shouldn’t steal.’

‘Yes, but—’

‘Take it up with someone else,’ Erlendur interrupted him wearily. ‘I’m not interested in your bullshit.’

They walked on, but the silence didn’t last long.

‘Just take it,’ said the thief.

‘Take what?’

‘The bag. I won’t spill the beans. You can say I got away. You lost me by the abattoir and I still had the bag. You’ll get a good price for all that.’

‘What, I keep the bag and you get away? Is that what you’re suggesting?’

‘You could say I’d made off with it. No one’ll guess. I won’t squeal. Honest. I won’t say a word.’

‘So I sell the goods and everyone’s a winner?’

‘I don’t mind.’

‘Cut the crap. Let’s go.’ Erlendur gave him another push. ‘And no more nonsense or the report will look even worse.’

‘Please, just take it and let me go. You can return the stuff to the shop. No harm done. A bit of broken glass, that’s all. Anyway, shops like that are insured. The owner won’t have to pay a króna.’

Erlendur couldn’t be bothered to respond any more.

‘What’s the point in arresting me? I’m a complete nobody. Let me go.’

As they approached the police station the burglar was barely moving. Since pushing him was having no effect, Erlendur seized the man’s shoulder and began to drag him along.

‘They’ll kill me,’ the thief cried. ‘You don’t get it. I owe them. They ordered me to do it. Even told me which shop. Said I could repay my debt with the stuff I nicked.’

‘What debt?’

‘Drugs.’

‘That’s a new one on me,’ said Erlendur.

‘What?’

‘Breaking in just to pay for drugs?’

‘They said it was the only way. That’s what they said. And I... what was I supposed to do? They threatened to... they’re totally mental.’

‘Who?’

‘The brothers.’

‘What brothers?’

‘I can’t tell you.’

‘I see.’

‘I’ll tell you if you let me go.’

They had reached the police station at last.

‘Enough.’

‘One of them’s called Ellert,’ said the thief. ‘That’s all I’m saying. I won’t tell you any more unless you let me go.’

‘Ellert?’ repeated Erlendur. ‘You don’t mean Ellert and Vignir?’

It was the thief’s turn to fall silent.

‘Has he got a brother called Vignir?’ asked Erlendur.

‘Do you know them?’ The thief had forgotten about withholding the other brother’s name. ‘You mean you know who they are? What they’re up to? What was I supposed to do? They threatened me.’

Erlendur ignored him. He was trying to remember everything he knew about Ellert and Vignir, and think about what had happened on Kringlumýri.

What if there had been more than one person?

What if there had been more than one person at the pipeline the night Oddný went missing?

Erlendur froze on the steps of the police station; he was staring at the thief. What if he had it all backwards? Suppose it wasn’t Hannibal who had seen Oddný’s death but the other way round? What if she had witnessed Hannibal being attacked and drowned?

He had taken it for granted that Oddný had been the victim of an assault and that Hannibal had died because he had seen too much. But suppose she had seen Hannibal’s murderers? Suppose she was the one who couldn’t be allowed to get away?

Now he came to think of it, hadn’t Bergmundur said something to that effect about the brothers? That he was sure they wanted to bump Hannibal off and had succeeded in the end.

What did Hannibal have on them?

Had they gone to the pipeline to look for him?

Were they the ones who attacked him?

Did they silence Oddný?

‘So are you going to let me go then?’ The thief sounded hopeful as he stood there on the steps in his handcuffs, having played his trump card in a bid for mercy. Erlendur looked so preoccupied that the young man thought he was seriously considering his offer.

‘I can’t let you go.’ Erlendur gathered his wits.

He grabbed his companion and pushed him ahead of him into the station, announcing that the Skólavördustígur burglar had been detained and the stolen goods recovered.